


Soldiers

by fadeverb



Series: Mortal Lives [3]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything becomes so much clearer when you work for an angel of God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldiers

I am a soldier of God, and I do His will. But it wasn't always so.

I first met an angel when I committed the most dishonorable deed of my life. I'd been no shining example of honor before; I was no stranger to gambling or to whores, I saw the inside of a married woman's bedroom more often than that of a church, and I laughed off every presentation of a white feather as the war dragged on. But all of these had been passive, petty sins.

It was January, and I'd received word of the Military Service Act. I might have been a drunkard and a fool, but even I could see the handwriting on the wall. With no desire to end up one of those timorous maimed idiots who returned from the front a babbling piece of shame, I set out to a cold, empty field with a knife in one hand and a bottle of strong whiskey in the other to render myself useless for military work.

Alcohol could only provide a coward such as myself with so much bravery, and after two toes I was down on the ground sobbing like any woman or child, no matter that I'd be coated in mud and filth. Every month the country grew more desperate for men, and how far did I have to go to keep myself at home? They'd believe an accident once, but not twice, and I had no more desire to be shot for cowardice than to be sent to the lines.

"What a fine mess you are," said a voice above me, and I tried to leap to my feet, found that with half a bottle of whiskey inside me and two toes missing this was no easy task. Flat on my back in the muck, I looked up to see who'd found me out.

He was a handsome man, dressed too finely for the area, and he smiled as he looked down on me. "Trying to avoid conscription," he said. "It's inevitable, you realize. All the country pulled onto the battlefield. Give it another five years and they'll start calling up the old men, the boys, the idiots and the lame, until there's nothing but widows and orphans left to this place. Why are you fighting the will of God?"

"Don't give a damn about God's will," I said, my throat aching from fear, cold, I didn't know what else. I couldn't see where he might have come from; there was nothing nearby but the old factory on the hill. That place burned down some decade and a half back, up in flames with all the workers lost inside, and I'd run up there to throw stones at the charred foundations and tell ghost stories as a child. "What do you want?"

He crouched down beside me, pristine against the surly gray sky around us. "I want to do the will of God," he said. "You might call me one of his servants. You, my pathetic waste of resources, are a coward and a failure. I can see that much right now. But you might still serve in your own small way."

"Are you going to report me?" I should have realized by then what I was being offered, but alcohol, pain, and fear blocked what little sense of decency I had left.

He took one of my wrists, pulled me to my feet as easily as if I'd been a child. "Possibly," he said, once I was standing unsteadily before him, and pulled out a white kerchief to wipe the blood and mud from that hand. "Possibly not. I'm prepared to offer you a choice. To redeem yourself in the eyes of the Lord." He fixed his gaze upon me, and in it I could see all the fires of Hell, waiting for me to reach out and touch them. "You are worthless and weak, but God may use even you for His purposes. Will you repent and serve him?"

I had never before felt such guilt as struck me at that moment, all the years of dishonorable living and cowardice rushing in on me to convict my very soul. I would have drowned in the shame, crying out my heart in that field, but that he touched me on the shoulder, and said, "You will prove yourself to me, and thus to God." At that touch, I could feel the joy of Heaven waiting for me.

We returned to my house, a dusty place too large for only me to live in, and he spoke to me while I tended to my foot in a basin of icy water. I learned that he was an angel of God, sent to Britain in these troubled times on an important mission, the details of which I did not yet deserve to hear. When I asked for a name, he laughed, and told me I could call him Harry, if I felt compelled to call him anything.

Finally, there was no more that I could do, and he seemed anxious to be gone. "If the war will continue forever--" I began, but he cut me off with a quick motion.

"It may, it may not. We shall have to see. But you'll serve my purposes best here and unharmed. I'll have your foot healed, and then arrange for you to not be sent to the lines. There are always positions that need to be filled at home that they won't give to women. And then...well. It may be some time before I contact you again, but I'll leave you with instructions for while I'm gone."

"You can heal me?"

"Not I," said the angel, and his smile was compassionate. "God gives each of us different gifts, and that wasn't one he chose to grant to me. But my brother will be here soon, and he has that power."

"How will he know where to find us?"

"Isaac, do you believe angels are limited by the words of men?"

"I suppose not," I said, and felt my own weakness all the more acutely.

After a time there came a brisk knock on the door, and I answered it to see a man my own age or a few years older standing there, dressed much like Harry but in grave tones, as if he came from a funeral. The second angel walked inside without speaking to me, and only looked at Harry with the expression of one summoned from important business for a trivial problem.

The two of them spoke for a few minutes in a language I didn't know, Harry's brother in continuing annoyance and Harry himself full of gentle reassurances. At last they reached some agreement, and the second angel turned to me, took my hand. He sang only for an instant, but I could never forget the sound of an angel's song.

He turned and left, without another word to either of us. But my foot was healed, and even the dull throb of a bruise lingering in my back had disappeared.

"The way he looked at me," I said to Harry, once the door had closed to leave the two of us alone again. "I think he was angry."

"He knows what you did, and what sort of man you are," Harry said, and patted me on the shoulder. "You'll have to work long and hard if you want any angel to look at you more favorably."

He explained to me what I ought to do, then left. I could have thought the whole thing a dream, but for the blood on my clothing.

#

Years passed before I saw him again. True to his word, as any angel of the Lord would be, Harry kept me from being sent to the front lines. I followed his every instruction, and worked myself up to a position of respectability, ceased my sinning, faithfully attended church. Every two or three years, I would receive a letter in the mail with instructions. If not for these messages, I might have forgotten him, for all that he'd saved my life and set me back on the path of righteousness.

I met him again on a Sunday afternoon, as I played in the garden with my youngest daughter. Though twenty years had passed, he looked no older than the day I'd first laid eyes on him, and he leaned over the gate, smiling. "Isaac," he said. "We must talk."

"My old friend," I said, and sent my daughter into the house to her nurse. "It's been...how long has it been?" I opened the gate to let him in. "1916, that was when we met. Twenty years. You haven't changed."

"Not as you can see it," Harry said, and for a moment I saw something like anger in his eyes. "At times following the will of God brings challenges, but the strong stand up to face them. Do you still serve His will?"

"I've done everything you asked," I said, and he could see from my house, my daughter, my clothing that I was no longer a sniveling wretch of a young man. "I stand ready to do as God would have me."

"Excellent. God is indeed calling on you," he said. Harry led me away into the garden, further from prying eyes. "And He will ask of you harder things than you've been asked to do before, Isaac. Until now, you've only waited and mended pieces of your life, that you might be a more serviceable tool to God. Now, he calls on you to take an active role in fighting the forces of Hell, and rooting out the most insidious evil that masquerades as a bringer of light inside the ranks of humanity. Are you prepared for this? Or are you still too weak?"

"I'm prepared," I said, and when I looked at him I could feel confidence rising within me. All my highest efforts towards the will of the Lord, to redeem myself for my sins. "What should I do?"

The angel laid an arm over my shoulders as we walked together. "I've arranged a position for you in London," he said. "You'll receive a letter within the week. From that place, you'll be able to watch for signs of infernal influence. I will warn you, Isaac, I am sending you into the very mouth of Hell. Another war is brewing, more terrible and deadly than the last, but a greater danger lies within, where demons walk among us and sap the strength of this country undetected. They'll try to corrupt and weaken you, merely for being so close to them. You'll have to be utterly steadfast."

I thought of my wife, my daughters, my son. "What about my family? Will bringing them to London expose them to this same danger?"

"What are you afraid of, Isaac?"

"It is only... My children, you see. They're so innocent."

"Only an illusion," said the angel. He turned to face me. "All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. They'll have their own chances to stand against the subtle workings of Hell. Or would you leave them coddled and weak, decaying in sin as they follow the wide and easy road to Hell?"

"Never! I only... I hope they'll be strong enough."

"With you as their father," said Harry, "I have great hopes." He clapped me on the back. "You'll be seeing more of me once you move to London. I've set up my headquarters there for the time being, though further from your location out of necessity. A human may pass undetected where an angel would not. May God give you strength in your task, Isaac. Before you're sent out, I'll petition my Archangel to give you greater strength than you have now, and the breath of God in your ears so that you might hear the infernal chords made by demons who tread on this Earth."

The two of us walked to the factory on the hill, a shining facility of whirring machines built on the ruins of the place that had burned down. In that place I was touched by the hand of God.

#

The letter arrived on Tuesday, and within a month my family was moved to a new house in London. My new job challenged my skills, but if the hospital where I worked was ever busy, it was also clean, well lit, and full of doctors who seemed to genuinely care for their patients.

But I was steadfast, and did not forget what Harry had told me.

As Harry gave me further instructions, and I spent more time in the hospital, I discovered the secrets of the demons who lurked there. The tall, gaunt doctor who always spoke harshly to patients about how they ought to behave once dropped a tray of glass vials--I'd arranged to have one of the maids mop the corridor and leave it damp before he stepped out of the room--and the sound I heard as the glass broke was louder and more demonic than a few vials could account for. Another doctor, a smiling young man who shared treats from his lunch with any children in his ward, once bent over a small girl who'd been hit by an automobile, and again I heard that infernal noise as I watched. She left his ward smiling and rapidly recovering from her injuries, but I couldn't say at what cost to her soul.

Harry began to come to my house for Sunday dinners, to receive what information I'd gathered and to pass on more instructions. The second World War broke out, pushed ever closer to that warm haven of my family, but his presence made the mounting tragedies more bearable.

When the bombings started, I sent my family back to stay with my wife's parents, and my house turned cold around me. I spent the weekdays fighting back my own fear, and longing for Sundays when church and angel alike reminded me of the unfailing bulwark of my stern God.

On a late Sunday afternoon in August, I sat in the parlor with Harry and explained my observations of an insidious form of demon that had taken up residence among the staff. This one could possess humans, like the demon of the Bible whom the Son of God had cast into a herd of pigs. "It frightens me," I confessed, as Harry was always easy to confess to. He knew all my sins, from least to worst. "I can never know if some innocent--if some unknowing doctor, patient, or nurse might be filled with that thing. It comes and goes with no one the wiser but the other demons. How can I fight a demon like that?"

"You can't," said Harry. He grew quiet and thoughtful, as the sun slid towards the horizon. "Isaac, I believe it may be time to confront this evil you've been tracking. I'd hoped to put it off longer, to carefully extract the demons from that place, but they've grown too firmly attached. Better to have that hospital gone than to let the demons increase their stronghold. These are dangerous times. The country cannot afford this rot in its heart. If an amputation has been called for, so be it. But I won't approach this without further information. I'll have to speak with one of the demons myself, and determine what countermeasures need to be taken."

"But isn't that too dangerous?"

Harry smiled at me. "Not if the two of us arrange it carefully. I know which one you ought to bring to me. Doctor Harrison. Tell him that your wife has come back to visit you for a few days. Be careful not to speak of this near the other doctor; he's clever, and liable to sense a trap."

"What good does it do me to spread this lie, Harry?"

"Wait until a day when the hospital's been filled with casualties, and Doctor Harrison seems exhausted for tending to them. He seeks to corrupt the weak, and those who are wounded are always weak; he'll spend most of his powers on that, and have none left to fight us. Ask him over for dinner to recover from the trials of the day. Press, if he refuses. If necessary, appear worried and weak. He won't be able to resist the opportunity. I'll wait here every night this week, to be ready."

"What will you do when he comes here?"

The angel poured himself another cup of tea. We could hardly speak of things with servants present. "I can keep him here. It will be your responsibility to break him. This will be a hard task, Isaac, I won't lie to you about that. He'll speak all manner of lies, and plead most convincingly that he's only an ordinary human. He may even try to claim he's an angel, if pressed hard enough. But you know what he is, and you'll have to be strong, no matter what you hear. Can you do that?"

"You can trust me, Harry," I said. "All the way to the gates of Hell."

"That's what I'm counting on." He reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a thin silver metal on a chain. Its face was embossed with a symbol I'd never seen before. "This is a holy relic, Isaac. Wear it next to your skin. If a demon strikes you, it will rip apart at his damned soul. Every time you can convince him to strike you, it will rip further through all the lies and illusions he's built up around himself. Enough times, and he may even see the truth. Will you suffer through this for me?"

I wrapped my hand around the metal. It was warm in my palm from where it had ridden so close to the heart of this angel. "I won't fail in the task God has set for me."

#

On Tuesday, bombs fell near the hospital, and the corridors became a charnel house of bloodied patients waiting for the attention of a doctor. Even I was pressed into service, carrying supplies for the doctors and nurses who worked to save who they could and move aside those they could not. At the end of the day, I changed my shirt to one free from blood, and went looking for Dr. Harrison.

I found the demon sitting by one of the beds in the children's ward, head in his hands. He looked up when I entered. "It's been a long day," he said, voice hoarse. "Such a very long day."

There were no empty chairs, so I stood before him, and schooled my face into something like sympathy. All my sympathy lay with the victims of his corruption, not his temporary weakness from having sated himself. "Doctor," I said, "you've worked yourself to the bone. Tonight, I have a hot meal waiting for me, and knowing my wife, she's made enough for the entire family even though only the two of us are there. Why don't you come home with me for dinner? The house is quiet without any of the children there, and she'd be happy to have you."

"I should stay," he said. Gesturing to where injured children slept, unaware of the monster in their midst.

"Doctor. It will do you no good to collapse from exhaustion on top of one of these children." I was nearly old enough to be his father, and so I adopted a fatherly tone. "The night nurses will tend to them. Come home for a meal, and once you've eaten, you can return with greater energy from food and good company."

The demon sighed. "I believe you may have the right of it. I'm too much tossed by emotion to be as effective as I ought to be. A few moments out of this place will do me good." He stood up, and his smile was too charming for me to trust it. "Lead on. And thank you for the offer."

When he followed me inside my house, Harry was waiting. And the angel was right; this demon was too weak to run.

We took the doctor who was no human but an infernal creature to a back room with no windows. He struck me once as we pulled him there, and cried out as if I'd already hit him, just as Harry had told me.

In my sinful youth, I fought other men in a drunken rage. Now I beat the demon coolly, and he cowered away from my blows as Harry guarded the door.

"Why?" asked the demon. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're a demon," I told him. "You prey on the weak and pull down the strong. You're a corruption among us, and I won't let you continue."

"I'm not," he said, "I'm not a demon, he is. He's been telling you lies."

"I've been given proof enough of the will of God," I told the demon, and I didn't listen to any more of his protests.

Dr. Harrison finally stopped talking, and only cowered in the corner of the room. "Stop," Harry said, and so I did. My shirt was once again flecked with blood. "I brought this for you," said the angel, and from beneath his coat he pulled out a sharp kitchen knife. "Do you recognize it?"

"Yes," I said, and remembered that hour of shame.

"Then put it to good use," he said, "and redeem yourself at last."

I took the knife from his hand.

I was not a violent man. Nor was I cruel, I had never been cruel, even when I'd been a fool and a wretch. But I could not fight the will of God.

The demon cried out loudly as I began to cut him, and he would have fled, but I stood in front of him and he couldn't move without striking at me. I made a bloody mess of him, more blood than any real human could lose and still live.

Harry said something, exasperated, though I didn't know the words. This time I recognized the language, Russian. "Isaac," he said, "we haven't the time to indulge him. Cut off his fingers and prick out his eyes. Perhaps he'll become more cooperative."

I should have been sick to my stomach, but God's strength ran through me, and I knew as surely as the sun coming up in the morning that what I did was right.

The knife went into his right eye more easily than it had sliced through my flesh. The demon howled. "If thy eye offends thee, pluck it out," Harry murmured, and I raised the knife again.

The demon lunged forward. For all that I had an angel of God behind me, the demon had the power of Hell driven wild by his fear, and he pushed me to the floor. The bones in my wrist snapped as he pulled the knife from my hand, and in my weakness I cried out as he pushed that knife into my stomach.

He stopped, his one remaining eye gone wide, staring into mine. "What have I done?" His voice was little more than a whisper. "What have I done?"

I couldn't answer, gasping at the pain inside me, worse than I'd ever felt before.

Harry dropped down to his knees beside us on the floor, and wrapped an arm around the demon, as if the doctor were his own child. "Don't worry," he said, and his voice had all the compassion he'd shown me once in my own shame. "The hardest part is over now. You'll adjust."

"What have I done?" said the demon, and in the horror of his gaze I saw the truth, that we'd ripped through all those lies. Even demons could redeem themselves. It was a comfort to me as I bled.

"You've stabbed my servant," said Harry, "and now you'll fix him. You _do_ know the song of healing, don't you?"

"Yes, but I...I'm out of any--"

"Of course you are. I'll loan you a touch for the moment." Harry pulled the knife out of my stomach, and once more I heard that beautiful song, as a demon-no-longer closed all my wounds and left me sound in body.

The two of them helped me to my feet, though Doctor Harrison wouldn't look me in the eyes. Guilt for what he'd once been, and what he'd just done. I could sympathize; it had taken me months to be able to think properly of what I had done on that hilltop, after Harry saved me from myself.

"I'll take you to my Archangel," Harry said, and the doctor shuddered, from holy fear. "You can finally come home."

I am a Soldier of God, and I follow the will of God. I was once weak and a fool, but I've redeemed myself from my shame, and I am strong. I serve an angel of the Lord in the surety that when I die, my loyalty will be rewarded, and my sons and daughters will follow in my footsteps behind me.

Blessed be the name of the Lord. Amen.


End file.
